


These Boots Were Made for Walking

by james



Category: Avengers (Comic), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, Missing Scene, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-23
Updated: 2012-02-23
Packaged: 2017-10-31 14:50:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/345336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/james/pseuds/james
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after the series Hawkeye: Blindspot.  Steve and Tony find a way to make Clint stay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Boots Were Made for Walking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jenna_thorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenna_thorn/gifts).



> Researching Marvel timelines made my head hurt, so I picked up the movie-verse characters and dropped them into the plot of the Blindspot storyline. The short version is: during the events of that story, Clint decides to go it alone. Again. Steve and Tony don't want him to leave. 
> 
> Written for a prompt by jenna_thorn, it isn't exactly what you probably meant. ;-) Enjoy?

Twice Clint tried to leave. The first time was right after he came, collapsed on the mattress and he was just meaning to lay there long enough to catch his breath. He tried to push himself upright and say thanks, it's been great, and make his exit gracefully. Before he could finish being collapsed on the mattress, however, a large, warm body rolled closer and pinned him down.

Well. Clint knew better than to try to fight off a superhero, especially one who was naked and whose limp and sticky cock was pressed up against Clint's very-abused-and-very-happy-about-it ass. So Clint closed his eyes and went to sleep.

The second time was oh my god o'clock in the morning, and Clint never pretended to be the guy who woke up voluntarily before nine a.m. But he was often awake at three, though usually because he hadn't gone to bed yet or because of this very same reason: the need to sneak out of someone else's bed and get back to his own. He tried sliding, slowly and carefully out of bed and before he got more than an inch, two hands grabbed his arms and held him fast.

Clint paused, waited for some kind of lecture or entreaty or even just a request for one more time and then you can go. But all he got was a tug of his arms and Clint sighed, let his face fall back on the pillow and closed his eyes again. If his pillow was half-chest and half actual pillow, that wasn't necessarily Clint's fault. Anyone who asked would get told: he'd tried to leave, tried to use the pillow wrapped in fine white silk but he'd been thwarted.

Hell, he'd been thwarted all evening. Tried to leave the mansion completely and he'd ended up, instead of packing a bag, standing in this very bedroom being slowly undressed and kissed and fondled and groped in fun and exciting places and walking away hadn't really stayed in his game plan for long.

The third time he woke he was alone in the bed and a quick feel of the sheets told him he hadn't been left long. He gave a careful sniff, hoping for coffee in bed, but smelled only the thick musk of lots and lots of exuberant sex. Clint hid a grin, then sat up, stretching his arms overhead. His ass was sore and he figured he'd be walking funny for days, but he couldn't deny it hadn't been worth it.

Assuming that no one regretted it this morning. Clint scowled as his brain woke up and presented him with a host of reasons why he should really hie his tail out of there now, out of the city and far, far away before anyone could catch him here, in this bedroom. 

On the pillow beside his was a folded up piece of paper. Clint reached over and unfolded it.

_Stop worrying and come down for breakfast. Something will be ready by the time you get here. We meant every word we said, by the way, and Steve wants me to say that if necessary, we will remind you again tonight and every night for as long as it takes you to believe us. Personally, I'd do this anyhow, but he's frowning at me so I've said it. There. Happy now, Captain?_

In a second, neat hand was written, _We won't wake you, but do please come down when you're up. Woken. I mean -- Tony's being very rude. Clint, we'll meet you at breakfast._

Clint folded the piece of paper and frowned. 

Well. It almost sounded like maybe they meant it. Clint looked around the room for his clothes and found, instead of the rumpled jeans and shirt from last night there was a set of folded clothes on the chair near the bathroom. He got out of bed and went to take a shower.

Clean and dressed, Clint left the room and headed for the stairs. He'd managed to stop the swirl of thoughts by simply not thinking about anything other than breakfast. He'd successfully distracted himself with images of blueberry waffles and bacon when he finally stepped into the semi-formal dining room the Avengers used most often. He stopped in his tracks as he saw the room was full -- everyone in the mansion was there, having breakfast. 

He smelled bacon. At the stove, Steve was standing next to Jarvis, holding out a plate. Jarvis was sliding something onto it and Steve was looking over at Clint and he was smiling, shy and uncertain and with the very same adorable look that Clint had spent years telling himself wasn't his.

Tony walked up, holding out a mug of coffee and Clint took it reflexively. He looked over at Tony and was shocked to see the same sort of smile, brash and wide, but not really hiding the fear underneath. "We locked your bows up in case you tried to escape," Tony said. "I swallowed the only key."

Clint blinked at him. "So, last night was merely a ploy to distract me while you stole my weapons?"

"Nah," Tony grinned. "We just--"

"If you make a joke about Clint's arrow, I'm going to shoot you," Natasha said, calmly, as she ate what looked like a plateful of eggs. 

"He already--" Clint began, and Natasha scowled at him.

"You, too."

Clint frowned over at Tony, then risked a glance at Steve. Steve was bringing over a plate of bacon and eggs and a biscuit, sliced open and covered in melting butter. He set it on the table and Clint just sat down, feeling that maybe, whatever else he was going to do about last night, he'd at least do it on a full stomach.

"We did mean it, Clint," Steve said, quietly. "And we both hope you'll say yes."

Clint stalled, taking a bite of bacon, and risking a glance around the room. No one seemed particularly disturbed, or surprised. If anything, Thor was looking at him a bit smugly, like he'd been in on the whole thing as well.

Clint had a flash of a four-man orgy, then choked on his bacon. Steve clapped him on the back, which really didn't help, and Clint reached for his coffee, gulping it until he could breathe. He shook his head, then looked up as he felt Steve's hand freeze on his shoulder at the movement.

Clint saw Steve watching him, glanced over and found Tony doing the same. He wanted desperately to make a joke -- Tony liked blonds and Steve apparently like smart-asses. But they were looking at him, intently and patiently and the words from last night kept rolling over in his head.

He'd been between them, wrapped tight in both of their arms, fucked until he could barely breathe much less think, and they'd left kisses all over his skin, touching and whispering words he'd only imagined they'd ever said to one another. 

"I can't promise to stop being an asshole," Clint said, and Tony just laughed. Steve rolled his eyes, but his smile had lightened and the entire room seemed to get lighter, somehow. 

"We don't want a personality transplant," Steve said. "If we did, we'd get one for Tony first anyhow." He gave Tony a grin, and stepped out of reach of Tony's swat. Steve ruffled his hand through Clint's hair and went back to the stove, and Clint just looked over as Tony sat down in the chair beside him, stealing Clint's coffee.

Tony grinned, and Clint could tell that Tony, as well, was half-ready to make a joke. But all he did was give Clint a wink and finish off Clint's coffee.

Clint turned his attention back to his food, and finished his breakfast. He lost a piece of bacon to Tony and half of his biscuit to Steve, but he'd stolen Tony's refill of coffee and two pieces of bacon from Steve, and despite the amount of hand-slapping and protesting, they all seemed to manage to eat plenty of breakfast.

And when Steve leaned in and kissed his cheek as he gathered up the plates, and Tony slid his hand up Clint's thigh as he gathered up the coffee mugs, Clint thought that, maybe, sticking around wouldn't be so bad after all.


End file.
